


Burn out

by minxminx



Category: Doom Patrol (Comics), Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cliff Steele - Freeform, Crazy Jane - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Petting, Larry Trainor - Freeform, Late at Night, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Rita Farr - Freeform, doom patrol - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxminx/pseuds/minxminx
Summary: Set as the same night as my other fic Getting Handsy. Cliff seems to be the little black dress of the group, not that he minds. Larry has some late night wanderings, which of course means getting physical with a certain metal made man.





	Burn out

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance if Larry comes off a bit out of character or overly angsty, I'm still trying to get the feel for him. Cliff and Jane are easy for me to get into character, but I adore the others as well and want to try and branch out. Thanks very much for RavenGlad and their kind comments on my work!

Some things were made to burn, and some things were made to burn others. Human flesh was one of the things made to burn, as Larry jolted awake from his third nightmare this week of that godawful jet spearing through space. Spearing into what he later found out was negative energy, but all that Larry knew for sure was that shit burned every molecule and epithelial layer with a disgusting tenacity to cause the most pain to his body it possibly could. Sweating, he rubbed his face, grimacing and hating as always, the feel of crisp yet almost gooey flesh underneath his palms. Fucking radiation burns, just couldn’t make up their mind whether to try and heal all the way or let him shrivel like over dried beef. 

A lot of the time he still woke up confused, feeling as if his current body was a shell that he would one day escape, much like the being harbored in his chest. Sensing his discomfort, it hummed, lurking under the surfaces of his skin, for once offering almost a cat like sense of affection. It rubbed and slithered through his veins, and for a second, he could almost let go and feel this reality tear for another, less painful one. “Stop fucking with my head, it’s too early.” Or was it too late? A glance at the clock showed the time to be rather late, 2 AM flashing with persistence from his alarm clock in bright red lights. He flopped and swatted at his sheets, finally deciding sleep wasn’t happening any time soon.

Turning on a low light lamp, he opened a drawer and grabbed one of many rolls of gauze, routinely wrapping around and around until no skin showed. What was left of his eyelids drooped as the material circled, but again insomnia dictated late night wandering. He debated creeping into Rita’s room, as one body horror victim to another. It was comforting for the two to sometimes curl around each other and try to forget what they had become. He snorted, finally feeling like the self pity and moping had taken its toll and decided to instead trudge downstairs and find some hard alcohol.

Something of course, the house never was empty of, given the horrible coping habits of the fucked up currently inhabiting its halls. Cliff’s idea of group therapy was sweet in its own dumb ass way, but not realistic with people used to heavily gagging and shoving down their emotions. He trudged downstairs, yawning loudly in case Cliff and Jane were still fucking around. Hard to believe just a few hours ago he had shooed Rita away from the pair to have their fun, then turn around and creep not too long later. Cliff rested one foot on the small coffee table, stretched back holding a beer and being as relaxed as a man made of metal could be. 

Larry snorted, finding the abandoned bottle of whiskey and pointedly stepping around the wet spot in the rug. Fuck no wonder there was screaming, he mused. Cliff tilted his head and eyed him, and Larry had to wonder how a man made of metal with no facial features could be so smug and fucking reek of sex. With that, the spirit glowed, clawing its way to said sex hormones. Larry grabbed his chest and tried his best to be as nonchalant as he could chugging whiskey and thinking cold shower thoughts. 

 

Cliff honestly had no idea what had suddenly gotten into his housemates’ dirty little minds. After some after hot and heavy followed by cuddling and Hammerhead punching him in the crotch, Jane had scurried off to her room. No big surprise really, and Cliff had a feeling it would be a regular late-night occurrence in the future. But fuck him, tonight was leaning sex tilt fucked by the way Larry was pointedly being awkward as fuck. Cliff got the feeling he wasn’t free quite yet to finish his cheesy movies and beer to crash out for the night. Fuck it, if even Rita suddenly rolled down the stairs with what gross imagery that produced, he doubted he’d have any stamina to give even if he was a fucking robot. Looking at the scrunched up and most awkwardly pent up human being on the planet, he took back another chug of his beer.

“Ya know, I ain’t gonna bite.” Larry snorted, finally unhunching his shoulders and tugging at the small rip in his bandages around his mouth. Any smart ass remark he had died as well as the ability to breathe when he underestimated the bottle in his hand. Whiskey was supposed to have a good slow burn, not acid down the esophagus and a wish for swift death. He felt a heavy hand swatting his back, which honestly didn’t help, but he finally managed to hack down the liquor and pretend he could suck down oxygen again. Fuck slow burn, this shit was on level of fuck my life what have I done kind of heat. Cliff laughed, pulling the man up back onto the couch after he stopped his hacking. “You should know if Jane’s drinking, shit ain’t gonna go down easy.”

“Bite me.” Larry couldn’t tell what was worse: the burning from the spirit in his chest begging to be out and play, or the liquor setting in his ribcage. “I mean I could, but no teeth might make it hard.” Swear to god, Larry almost groaned at Robotman’s horrible attempt to wink. That and the flood of late-night hormone and bad decisions jumping straight to his dick. “Not burned out from miss crazy and fuck me all over the rug?” Words came out a lot more bitter than Larry meant to, so he decided best course of action was more fire water down his throat. Cliff frowned but shrugged. “Not my place to say, but naw I’m still awake if you want the same.” The words hung in the air and Larry immediately felt like shit. 

Part of him was irked the goth grunge pixie got all the touches before he did, the other part rationally argued it was fucking childish. Larry tilted the bottle back again, almost spluttering out pure spews of the stuff when Cliff lunged over to pin him. Red eyes and hardness pushing down, holding him and crushing him at the same time, and Larry couldn’t stop the small moan crawling out. Cliff paused, then smirked as he could, mostly just jutting that square jaw forward. One hand went to the throat, and one hand went lower south. He huffed hot breaths into the crook of the other man’s neck, and Larry almost dropped the bottle to the floor. Tilting his head back, he groaned and hitched his hip forward. “Fuck you’re so good.” Cliff couldn’t help groaning himself, heavy hands pulling him close and imagining how it would feel fucking him hard into the sofa and cursing once again, not being to really feel shit. 

In the most fucked up, assbackwards way, that made Larry jerk up and out of Cliff’s hands. He stumbled back, looking so much the startled deer in the headlights. Of course, all his body dsyphoria and garbage self image issues would come rushing back when someone actually wanted to fool around. His heart couldn’t fucking stop sending fight or flight signals and he almost felt sick even with the notion of how unconventional as it was between a robot and a fucking mummy. He doubted there was really any body judgement on Cliffs end for his crispy flesh, but still. Cliff lurched, not expecting the loss of body underneath him on the couch but ducked his head and just shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry if I got the wrong idea.” That was almost worse than just getting angry or being grossed out by what was under the bandages. 

Larry coughed, and looked to the side. He fingered the edges of the rip in bandages, worrying his teeth and lip, wishing he could make his feet just fucking move, one way or the other. He must have been struggling longer than he thought, because next thing he knew was Cliff’s hard lap and arms tugged around him. “I’m not good at feelings and all, but I do know you coming on to me is fucking good in my book. If you’re not cool with going further, I’m cool with that too. I just want you to be feeling good, and I’m happy with whatever.” Larry snorted, flopping back onto the couch and sliding under one metallic arm. “I’m happy with this for now if you are.” The metal man made the effort into yawning and sliding around him like a fucking cheesy movie date night, and just for a minute Larry let himself get all warm and fuzzy. Feelings and sex hormones be damned, this late-night couch session was a plus in his mind. Cliff threw back another beer and yawned for real. Good night of bonding was good, further screaming orgasms being placed on the back burner. Cliff glanced over one more time and grinned. Yeah, this was good for now.


End file.
